bravery

There is more than one list of seven virtues. Courage, or bravery, goes back to Aristotle and Plato as one of the four cardinal virtues.

What is bravery to you? An extreme sport? A warrior?

My sister endured cancer treatment for 7 years, over 30 rounds of chemotherapy. She said, “People say I am brave, but they don’t understand. I don’t have a choice. It’s do the therapy or die.” It’s still brave, though, isn’t it.

The person who comes to my mind for bravery is a woman, a long time ago. She spoke Spanish and we had a translator. Her son had had rheumatic fever and they had gone to the pediatric cardiologist for the yearly visit. Her son had a damaged heart valve that was getting worse. He was somewhere between 9 and 12.

“The heart doctor says he needs surgery. He needs the valve replaced. But the heart doctor said he could die in surgery.” she said.

I read the notes and the heart ultrasound. “The heart valve is leaking more and more. If he doesn’t have the surgery it will damage his heart. He will be able to do less and less and then he will die. If he has the surgery, there is a small chance that he will die. But if he doesn’t, he will be able to grow and to run and to be active.”

She said, “I am so afraid.” But she returned to the pediatric cardiologist. And he got through the valve replacement surgery and did fine.

That is courage to me. The parents who take chances for their children: get into boats to escape war. Search for treatments. Fight for their home, their children, their loved ones. It is both men and women, mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers, and people who have no blood relation to a child that they reach out to help. Adoption, volunteering in schools, supporting a student, supporting an organization that helps children grow and thrive.

For the A to Z challenge….and last year.

 

 

 

 

Home

This is not a perfect photograph…. and yet, at the same time, it is for me. My daughter was home last week for spring break. She had a haircut and sent her hair to Locks of Love. The background is cluttered with the cupboard open and counter, but her concentration and quiet is a contrast to that. And anyhow, I am biased, right? We love even terrible photos of those we love.

Round one

This is for photrablogger’s Mundane Monday #101, and he has a round theme too. I was trying to get a photograph without all the kitchen chaos background and thought, oh, from above. Cats enjoy symmetry and design. Boa chooses this stool because our old furnace died and is replaced by a heat pump, high on the kitchen wall. The stool is the closest place to the warm air source: when no lap is available.

I am indoors occasionally….

Blueblack

Here is Boa, in my kitchen, black with blue highlights. She used to sit in front of the vents when the 1979 propane furnace worked. Now I have a heat pump, high on the wall in the kitchen. The closest she can sit is up on the two chairs that tuck in the end of the counter. She is 12 years old and less interested in going outside this cold winter. She misses the kids and the other cat, who was hit by a car three years ago. She likes it when the kids come home, and when they leave again, she is a little bit blue…..

Wellness

What is wellness and what is illness?

Many of the people that I see in clinic want healing. But healing is complicated. Many people define healing as “I want to be the way I was six years ago when I felt good.”

I delve into the time when they felt good. Sometimes when I start asking about it, they were very busy. Often very stressed. Often not paying attention to their own care, caring for someone else, a parent, a child, a partner. Or overworking with great intensity. “But I could do it!” they say, “I didn’t feel bad!”

…Maybe not. But the self care was deferred. The body struggled on as best it could, absorbing trauma after trauma, being ignored until a tipping point was reached. Then the switch was thrown and the system crashed…

When my sister died of cancer at 49, the family fought. Lawsuits. I promptly crashed and was out sick for two months. I nearly died too, of sepsis. I thought, I’m not going to be that stupid again. Well, except I was. My father died fourteen months after my sister and I was executor, dealing with a 1979 will. I was sure that I would be sued. I did not cut back work and I didn’t rest. I worked on the estate and cried, evenings and weekends.

After a year, I crashed again. Sepsis, again. I did not die, but this time I was out for ten months and then had to work half time for ten months. And I thought, oh, am I stupid or what? I didn’t take time off when my father died. I just pulled my boots up and kept working, two jobs. Executor and physician.

I made the rounds of specialists. I coughed for six months. Pulmonary. My lungs were slowly improving, very slowly. My muscles were lagging: neurology said they would get better. “When?” I said. “We don’t know,” said the neurologist, grinning. “I hate doctors,” I said. He laughed. On to Ear, nose and throat, then Asthma/Allergy, then Infectious Disease. “We don’t know how to keep you from getting it again.” says the Infectious Disease specialist cheerfully. “No idea.”

Back to work. Half time for ten months. And now my new “full time”. My goal is not to work more than forty hours a week. I spend 4.5-5 hours seeing patients and 3 hours reading and making decisions about labs, specialist notes, ER notes, inpatient notes, pharmacy notes, garbage from insurance companies, medicare’s new and improved impossible rules, continuing medical education, pathology reports, notes from patients and phone calls. And then I go home.

I would have qualified for a diagnosis of chronic fatigue six months into the illness. I didn’t seek it because I didn’t care. I was quite certain that I would get better, though I didn’t know how long it would take. I was quite certain that I would have to behave differently or I would crash again. If I get it again, I don’t think I will be able to do medicine and I like doing medicine. Also, if I get it again, there is a 28-50% mortality rate. Not good odds. So I need to pay attention, rest when the stress reaches the level of stupid, and take care of myself.

It is now thirty months since I got sick. I do actually feel like my muscles are back to normal. My lungs aren’t quite. I can tell when I play the flute that there is some scarring, after three bad pneumonias. But I can play and sing and I am slowly getting back to shape.

But note: I am NOT going back to where I was. I am paying attention. I am changing my job and my life so that I stay healthier. I am not returning to unhealthy levels of work and stress. And if stress in my personal life flips to high, I take time off from work. I have to, to stay healthy.

When I meet a new patient, the ones that are hardest to help are the ones who want to turn back the clock. They want the exact same life back that crashed them. The life that they got sick in. Think of a veteran getting blown up: we don’t expect them to be the same. Think of my 90 year old patient who went through both brain and heart surgery. He was better. He was able to hunt again which was his goal. But he said, “You have not made me feel that I am 20 again.” I laughed and said “And I am not going to. Talk to your higher power.” He was teasing me, but he was also acknowledging that his body and his endurance and his health at 90 was different than at age 20.

We need a new paradigm of wellness. Wellness is not staying the same for one’s entire life. You will not be 20 for 70 years. Wellness is changing as your life changes and paying attention to what you and others need. Wellness is accepting illness and deciding how our life needs to be changed to be well.

I took the photograph of Mount St Helen’s five years ago. The mountain changed too, as we all do.

In the warm

In the warm

I am here in the warm.
The thumper.
Sometimes it is fast.

I am in the warm.
The thumper.
The loud swish thing.
I kick it.
Loud place, I kick.
I am running out of room.
I push.

I push.
Thumper wild.
Thumper fast.
I have no room and now it is squeezing!
Stop squeezing! Pushing me! I want room! Room!

Ahhh! Bright!
Noisy! No warm! Cold!
Things touch me! Room! But no warm!

I am warm but not wet.
Bright. Wrapped.
Here is thumper.
I cough. No wet, something else. Air.
I want. Oh, thumper. Oh, mouth on warm, milk.

Here is room.
Thumper and others.
I know others. They are fast.
They are noisy.
That one is the one that held the swish thing. I kick.
Thumper and those are big.
These two are small, I am smaller.
Noisy! I like them.
I am getting used to light and dark.
More room. Milk. Air.

I know names. I have hands like others.
I can chew my hand.
My hands don’t work like theirs.
My noise doesn’t work either.
Not like brothers. Thumper is mom.
Other big is father.
Other bigs come and go.
I want my noise and hands to work!
I keep practicing.

I keep practicing
More!

I took the photograph of my daughter in 1998. This is scanned. I may try with another scanner….

Β 

mother, maiden and crone

When Beth is dying in Little Women, she says that it is like the tide going out….. sometimes I miss my sister so much. I am trying to make sense of the third stage, the stage after mother. With my daughter in college, I am living alone for the first time in 28 years. And I don’t have my sister or my mother or my grandmother to accompany me.

I took the title from one of my sister’s essays: An early promotion to crone. Here: http://e2grundoon.blogspot.com/2007/08/early-promotion-to-crone.html

I want to discuss my sister’s essay with her …. I can’t, except in dreams.

mother, maiden and crone

small child in my heart
baby cuddled warm
safe and loved
small girl dancing
sing run shout

woman seen and heard
woman silenced dressed undressed
woman learning searching writing
woman held and loved
woman gravid bearing carrying
woman feeding raising nurturing

crone quiet watching
white haired dismissed old
unseen unknown ignored
laughing playing dancing
crone alone
sing run shout
dancing

music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JiP9WH0zN0Y

walls fall down

small beloved that I love
with my small body and soul
come in the yard and play with me
walls fall down

big Beloved that I love
that is all inside and out
come outside and play with me
walls fall down

small beloved that I love
you don’t love me back
I will love you anyhow
walls fall down

big Beloved that I love
loves me back no matter what
my heart opens like a door
walls fall down

small beloved that I love
blessings on your life
I will long to see your face
walls fall down

big Beloved that I love
let all walk in peace
loving kindness, safe and free
walls fall down

 

I took the photograph in Portland, Oregon. Walls… but this wall is around a school that is being rebuilt and the fence is to keep people out of the construction site, safe, and to protect the machinery and supplies for the repair. How do we balance safety and freedom, growth and kindness?

Sending love

Sometimes I wake in the morning, muscles tight and anxious.

This morning I dreamed that I was a teen, going on a trip. I packed my sleeping bag and the new pad. I finally bought a new inflatable pad for camping, last year. I still have my old one, patched and 30 years old and thin. I decided that I am old and stiff enough to have a newer one. I used it for the first time in the tree house. Yoga mat, pad and sleeping bad and I was warm. In the dream that was all I had time to pack: no clothes or books. There was barely room for that. I was worried about the trip and afraid.

When I wake anxious and feeling attacked, I send love. I send love to the people that I am finding most difficult in my life. A family member who with their spouse, have been mean since I was a teen. Not a family member any more: a blood relative, now. I will choose who is family and who is just a blood relative. In the manner of children of alcoholics, this is a terribly slow process. Raised in addiction and enabling, children love their parents anyhow, and it is a slow adult process to learn that love is not addiction, enabling nor enmeshment.

So I send love: may this person be peaceful. May this person be free. May this person be filled with loving kindness. May this person be safe. I send them loving kindness, especially if they are a blood relative who is still cruel. I don’t want them in my life any more and yet I want to forgive them. Forgive but not reconcile, if they are still in the dire pattern. No reconciliation if they continue the behavior.

Sending love.

Sweet Honey in the Rock: In the morning when I rise: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZAJBZXIzKcY

I took the photograph of my mother in the early 1980s. I borrowed my first real camera and took one roll. I scanned this today and my scanner is not up to the detail, but I like the abstraction. I love this photograph of my mother because it is her thinking and concentrating expression.